Two Kinds Of Scars
by Alunabelle Nightshade
Summary: We do our best to block out painful things in our past. But sometimes, no matter how hard we try, our scars end up showing. And there's no way for us to hide our suffering forever. Pietro-centric. Abuse and similar themes. Dark-fic. One-shot. You have been warned. Originally intended to be titled "Two Kinds Of Scars, Two Kinds Of Pain".


**Two Kinds Of Scars**

**Warnings**: Language, slight AU/OOC. Mentioning of graphic child abuse, M/M rape, self-harm (i.e. cutting), mentions of suicidal thoughts. Not recommended for anyone under sixteen. Might be spoilers to Season 2 of X-Men: Evolution.

* * *

Pietro never forgot. Despite the fact that it had happened more than two years ago, when he was fourteen. He still remembered it. Maybe that's because it had happened several times, and no one had stopped it. Sure, his father - Magneto, had caught on to what was happening eventually, but by then the damage had been done to him.

His son hadn't changed very noticeably on the outside, but there was something clearly different about him. He stopped hanging around with his friends, broke up with his girlfriend, and stopped speaking unless spoken to.

He could remember it so well. The pain. The tears. Everything. Just when he seemed to be able to finally move past it, the destruction that those memories caused him to his breath away each and every time...

* * *

_October, 2001 _

Even before the door opened, Pietro could feel the fear making his heart race and his palms sweat. It was about two o'clock now. He always expected him to show up around that time. He always did. A few times, the silver-haired teenager thought maybe because he was late he wouldn't show up. But he always did. And the tiny sliver of hope he'd had would be destroyed.

His knob turned, the bedroom door slowly creeping open. And he was there, just like always.

Pietro didn't move or say a word, he hardly ever bothered to anymore. It didn't do any use. He'd locked his door before, but that only made him angrier. He knew better than to try it again... it just wasn't worth the consequences.

He shut the door behind himself, turning the lock. Then, he turned to look at Pietro, making the boy shudder as his crystal green eyes raked over the younger man's form.

He was almost nice-looking, when he was in a good mood. He might even be considered handsome. His sharp features, and long black hair adding contrast with his pale complexion. But Pietro knew what he really looked like. Face covered in sweat, grinning down with an evil, fanged mouth, eyes like venom, filled with lust. That disgusting face staring down, never looking away once.

"Boy," he rumbled, his voice deep.

Pietro averted his eyes, as he did usually in his presence, not speaking - knowing his voice would quiver if he did. He supressed a flinch when heard the heavy boots crossing the room. Then, a cold hand reached out and touched the side of his face, and he drew in a sharp breath.

The sick bastard chuckled, clearly enjoying the silver-haired boy's fear.

Pietro shut his eyes, not wanting to see him. He knew this. He always knew what would happen. Because it was always the same.

He climbed on top of the teenager, pressing him down against the silky bed sheets. Lips pressed forcefully against his. He shook his head, forcing his head back, "N-No... don't kiss me." He said, chewing his trembling lower lip.

The man let out an icy laugh, "I'll do whatever I want, boy." He growled, grabbing Pietro's pajama shirt, and yanking it hard, tearing it open and sending several button flying. Immediately, he dipped his head down, running his tongue against the teen's sensitive flesh, making him whimper and squirm. He hated this, how he felt whenever he was touched by this vile man. His body couldn't tell the difference with what his mind was thinking and his heart was feeling.

It disgusted him to the core, and the man would taunt him when he was so obviously upset but his body would react differently to the unwanted touches.

It was almost as bad... knowing what was coming terrified him. But nothing could have been worse then the first time it happened. He'd had no idea what was happening, and by the time the just barely fourteen-year-old figured it out - it was too late...

* * *

_June, 2001 _

_Ice cold hands were gripping his wrists too tightly, holding them down._

_Hot breath against his neck, kissing him, making him want to vomit._

_Turning his face, wet with tears, to the side, soaking his pillows. _

_The worst part of it all was his father was just downstairs, a few feet down from his room. And he had no idea what was happening to his only son._

_"Suck it up, boy!" He'd hissed, "You're fourteen now - a teenager. It's time you learn your place for in this life."_

_"N-No... No don't! Please, oh God! No please don't do this to me!" He'd cried out, struggling desperately, but he was no match for the man who was more than twice his weight. "Stop, please don't! Father!" _

_"Stop squirming, you little runt! Stay still, or this will hurt more than you could ever imagine!"_

_Then everything went black for a moment, and white hot pain worse than anything he had ever felt before erupted between his legs. He had screamed louder, until the man punched his throat, choking off his breath so he couldn't yell for help, leaving him sobbing brokenly._

_It got worse. Hands harshly grabbed his hips, strong fingers pressing into his skin painfully. And he felt him move inside him, bile rose in the back of his throat. _

_'This can't be happening to me... Please no... Oh, god, no! Father, please help me! Father!' _

* * *

_December, 2003 _

Pietro bolted up right, gasping for breath. He shuddered violently, breathing raggedly, and drew his knees up to his chest, feeling the tears build up in his eyes, streaming down his cheeks. He rocked himself back and forth, holding onto himself tightly for fear of falling to pieces if he let go.

He hated this.

Hated that he was so weak.

That he couldn't stop the man that had raped him.

Over and over, and over again...

He squeezed his eyes shut, biting hard down on his lip and ignoring the metallic taste of his own blood in his mouth. Why had this happened to him? Why?!

What had he ever done? First, his mother died before he could get to know her. Then his father sent his twin sister away to a psychiatric hospital. Now this. He didn't deserve it, no one did.

So why did it happen to him? Why?

He knew he was a lot more fortunate then some other boys, and girls, that this happened to. Sometimes it went on for years with them, rather than just a few months. Sometimes it never ended. Sometimes... the kids didn't survive.

As if they wished they did.

He remembered when it ended, but didn't really. His father came looking for him because he'd not been feeling well after getting a small flu. But it wasn't a dumb cold that had him so scared to leave his room. His father had knocked on the door, and before anything could happen his door was opened.

He didn't remember his father's reaction to the sight. Seeing his young teenaged son on his stomach, his wrists tightly bound to the headboard by coarse ropes. Naked, covered in bruises and scratches, not to mention the cuts covering him in unsuspicious locations which had not been caused by the man that was holding him down, abusing his body.

Pietro could only remember the sound of his crying out for his father after hearing his voice, and then...nothing.

He'd woken up in the hospital. If the bright lights were any indication. He was covered in wires and bandages and gauze... He remembered freaking out when he saw the plastic hospital-issued handcuffs binding his wrists to the bed, terrified at the thought of being safe was just a dream. His father was there, a hand was on his face - a familiar one but a strangely comforting one.

His father was above him, talking soothingly... something else that was strange for him. He could see the pain in his eyes. He didn't recognize the other people. Or did he? At the time he certainly hadn't, but he wasn't in the right state of mind when he woke up there. He'd seen a woman with long dark hair, and a man in a wheelchair who he would learn the identities of later.

He spent several weeks recovering in the hospital.

During that time the doctor told him during a report that he was lucky. That his injuries were relatively minor.

Minor? Ha! As if.

He'd been less angry about that then than he was now. But he'd also been unstable. Hurt. Devastated even. He knew the fact that the monster had been stopped should have given him some sense of relief. But it did not. He only knew that he wanted to cry every time someone looked at him. Spoke to him. All of them wanted to ask questions, take pictures, or touch him, look at him. He just wanted to be alone.

Well, not completely.

He never wanted to be totally alone again.

But his father stuck with him after that. And when Pietro had learned his 'story' made the city news, he felt sick all over again. Until he learned his father wanted to move. A fresh start, he'd called it. Apparently Father had someone he wanted to see, a man named Charles, he wanted Pietro to come with him.

A new city, in the state of New York. He had been happy, happier than he'd expected. He wouldn't have to face any of his old friends at school. No pitying looks. No judgement or sympathy.

He could go somewhere where no one knew him and he could be whoever he wanted and do whatever he wanted, and no one would know that it was a façade.

He'd asked his father where they were going.

A place called Bayville.

* * *

**So... yeah, that's it. No my best work, I'm willing to admit. But it's been bugging me for a while. So I thought I'd get it out of the way tonight after all my Roleplay buddies logged off for the night. **

**Either way, whether you liked it or not, leave a review, and tell me what you thought. **

**Later!**


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